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THE STORY 

OF 

JOHN THE ORANGE-MAN 

BEING A SHORT SKETCH OP THE LIFE OF 
HARVARD'S POPULAR MASCOT, 



BY ONE OF HIS "FRINDS" 




J^hingtc 
cambridge 
john wilson and son 

JSnibergits press 
1891 






Copyright, 1891, 
By John Wilson and Son. 



TO 

JOHN LOVETT, 

l^arbarti's ^range-man, 

IV/io by his loyalty^ his cojistant attendaiice at college sports^ 

his regular visits^ a7id readiitess always to '-''Trust 

the gintlciJia7i ^'' has won the good-will of all, 

AND ESPECIALLY OF HIS " FRIND," 

The Author. 



INTRODUCTION. 



T^O begin with, why should not there be 
^ a biography of John the Orange- 
man ? If thirty-five years of uninterrupted 
popularity at the first university in our 
land does not entitle one to a memoir, 
pray, what does ? Half the men whose 
lives have been written have not even 
been popular for a single year. An 
humble position surely does not debar one 
from the privilege, for most of our great 
men, I believe, began their lives in log 
cabins, or on canal-boats ; and who knows 
but what John may yet be a senator ? 
An introduction seems almost unnecessary. 
You all know him! — Old John, who is 
the first to welcome the Freshman in the 



6 Introduction. 

autumn, and the last to shake hands with 
the Senior on Commencement, and per- 
haps drink him God-speed from a flowing 
bowl of punch. He well remembers the 
time your father was in college ; will tell 
you where he roomed, how he lived, who 
his friends were ; perhaps will even whisper 
in your ear of a narrow escape he had, in 
the early part of his Freshman year, from 
being asked to resign. Is there a room in 
college that is not open to the genial 
bearer of the fruit-basket ? Is there any 
one who has not tasted an orange or 
banana from the little white hand-cart? 
Who has not been comforted, when sorely 
pressed by creditors, by John's ready wil- 
lingness to trust him for any amount ? 

How often on the ball field, when a 
game chanced to go against the wearers of 
the crimson, have we been cheered by a 
glimpse of a short, round-shouldered man, 
with a red fringe on his face, waving his 
cap and crying aloud for Harvard, in a 



Introduction. 7 

voice rendered somewhat dim and moist 
by lapse of years ! 

Have we not been raised from fits of 
despondency, attendant upon some finan- 
cial crisis, by John's evening visits, his 
good-humor, and his renowned song, 
'* Erin-go-Bragh " ? Perhaps some of 
the more reckless of us have at times 
shared with him a *' sup o' the bottle/' 
partly to humor his sentiment of, "A drap 
av whuskey, av ye don't moind/' and partly 
with a mild longing to get him into a con- 
vivial mood, and hear him sing. 

But who is John the Orange-man ? 
Where did he come from, and how did he 
get under the wing of the Alma Mater ? 

His life perhaps is not wildly exciting 
or romantic ; but must it be a closed 
volume on that account ? His sphere, 
though small and humble, has its inter- 
esting features. 

In presenting the story of his life, I feel 
it necessary to make some apology for its 



8 Introduction. 

fragmentary character, in spite of a con- 
viction that on general principles no book 
should be published until it has been 
brought into such a condition that no ex- 
planation is necessary. Most of the mate- 
rials have been given me by John himself ; 
some are new, some old., I can do no 
better than quote Bunyan's apology for 
Pilgrim's Progress, — for the hero's life has 
been a pilgrim's progress in a way : — 

" And so I penned 
It down, until at last it came to be, 
For length and breadth, the bigness which you see. 
Some said, * John, print it ; ' others said, * Not so.' 
Some said, * It might do good ; ' others said, * No.' " 

The career of John the Orange-man 
is before the reader. 



THE STORY 



OF 



JOHN THE ORANGE-MAN. 



T T was a Harvard Class Day more than 
^ half a century ago. Cambridge was 
looking its best, as it always does on these 
occasions. The fifty-six members of the 
class of 1833 were bidding their social 
farewell to the university ; the intellec- 
tual farewell was to come some months 
later, for Commencement Day occurred in 
the autumn in olden times. This was the 
class with which " Prof. Joe '' graduated. 

The celebration then was somewhat 
more primitive than it is now. The grad- 
uating class was served with cake and 



lo The Story of 

wine at the President's house, and then 
marched to the chapel in University Hall, 
where the exercises were conducted. In 
the afternoon there was the usual prom- 
enade on the campus, and a punch, free 
to all comers, was served on the shady 
side of Harvard Hall. The materials for 
this punch were brought in buckets from 
Willard's tavern, now the car stables, and 
the refreshing fluid was served to all who 
might ask. 

James Russell Lowell, in his article on 
Class Day, says : '' Nor was it an unheard- 
of thing for bankrupt topers of the vicin- 
age to circulate among the heedless crowd, 
assuming an air of strangeness at each 
return, thus repeatedly drenching their 
adust throats, and blessing the one tap of 
all the year whose waste was not scored 
against them behind the door until it grew 
inexorable." 

But what has all this to do with my 
story.? Nothing, except that at about the 



John the Orange-man. ii 

same time that these festivities were going 
on, there was, on the other side of the 
globe, a smaller celebration in progress, 
the cause of which was the ushering into 
the world of the hero of my narrative. 
John the Orange-man was making his first 
feeble effort to fight off the grim spectre, 
and assert his right to live, move, and have 
a being. In point of numbers the rejoic- 
ing was small, being confined to my hero's 
immediate relatives, but was no less sincere 
than the great jubilee at Cambridge. 

The scene of the event was the small 
village of Kenmere, in the southwestern 
part of Ireland, County Kerry. An un- 
pretentious place it was, to be sure, 
situated on a small river near the sea, 
and surrounded on all sides by bogs and 
meadows. The houses, facing on a single 
shady street, were two-storied, white- 
washed structures, with thatched roofs. 
At that time the place was noted for noth- 
ing in particular, unless the yearly expor- 



12 The Story of 

tation of a small quantity of peat is 
considered a noteworthy circumstance. 
Now it is celebrated chiefly, I fancy, as 
being the birthplace of John Lovett. If 
not, it certainly should be. Perhaps it is 
so far behind the times as to be wholly ig- 
norant of the rise and greatness of one of 
its sons. But of this I am not informed, 
never having travelled through that part of 
the world. Here, then, our hero began the 
battle of life. 

Like all the great men who figure in 
modern history, he was the son of *' poor 
but honest parents." His father made a 
living by farming, hiring a place of some 
twenty acres a short distance from the vil- 
lage. The house was of stone, two stories 
high, with a pitched roof of yellow thatch. 
Behind it flourished a small kitchen-garden, 
while to the left was a stone cow-house, 
and the inevitable pig-sty. A hundred 
yards or so to the rear, and toward the 
river, was a small lime-kiln, from which a 



John the Orange-man. 13 

rough, worn path led to the quarry, a mile 
and a half away. 

Farmer Lovett's revenue was derived 
from various sources, the earnings of the 
farm being swelled by the sale of peat and 
lime. Living was cheap, for milk and 
potatoes constituted the staple diet ; and 
the expenditures for clothes and other 
necessities being small, the family was 
very comfortably situated. There were 
twelve children all together in the brood, — 
five girls and seven boys, — and they all 
played together, in a rural manner, with 
the pigs and the chickens, ignorant of the 
high distinction that one of their number 
was destined to receive. 

John's early days were spent in helping 
about the farm, minding the cows, driving 
the donkey to the village with peat, and 
leading the oxen which drew the rude 
sledges from the quarry to the kiln. When 
eight years old, he was sent to the public 
school, which he attended for two years. 



14 The Story of 

The schoolhouse was about three miles dis- 
tant ; and John had to foot it both ways. 
Moreover, each pupil was expected to bring 
two or three sods of peat to make the fire 
in the schoolhouse ; consequently the priv- 
ilege of receiving an education was some- 
thing of a hardship to those living at a 
distance. John's only recollection of his 
scholastic life is that he studied a book 
called, ** Radinmadeaisy,'' and '' played 
thricks an the school-masther," who de- 
pended more on his stick than on his 
skill to impart learning and maintain 
discipline. 

The surrounding country was rough, 
woods alternating with bogs and rocky 
pastures ; and the boys used often to omit 
school from the daily programme, hunting 
rabbits, and setting traps for squirrels and 
other small game. John's particular pet 
was a tawny dog of no particular breed, 
and of doubtful pedigree ; the creature, 
having a good disposition, however, and a 



John the Orange-man. 15 

fondness for rabbits and " sich-like," ac- 
companied his master on all his expedi- 
tions. But life is not all play. When John 
was fifteen the famine came ; he was taken 
from school, and bound out to work. A 
hard life he led then ; no more sporting 
with the pigs or hunting with the dog, — 
only hard work and poor food. His father 
was obliged to give up the farm, and his 
brothers and sisters gradually died off until 
only two were left ; they are still alive. 
One is a Cambridge milkman, and the 
other a baker in Memorial Hall. During 
the famine the oldest son emigrated to 
America, and found work in Waltham. 
Soon after, he sent for his mother, and 
two years after that John himself got ready 
to depart. He filled a small red trunk with 
potatoes, sifting oatmeal into the empty 
spaces, thereby economizing room, and 
packed what few clothes he had in a sack, 
because, as he said, " They wud sthale me 
pitaties, but wud n't tech me clothes." 



1 6 The Story of 

There were no ocean racers in those days, 
and John was six weeks at sea in a sailing 
vessel. At first he was not happy. The 
rolling of the vessel was a new experience 
to him, and for some days but few visits 
were made to the trunk of potatoes. Grad- 
ually his appetite came back, and his face 
grew red and shiny once more. 

The captain treated him very kindly, 
knowing that he was travelling alone ; and 
John was not at all backward in asking 
questions. He literally thirsted for infor- 
mation. " Is the ririts hoigh, an' do there 
be famines, an' do yez know me brother 
Moike f Do yez think Oi 'd be afther foind- 
ing iny gould av Oi wint to Califoorny ? 
Is Califoorny near Barston ? Oi tink Oi '11 
thry me hand wid a spade. Do yez raise 
pitaties over there, an' is the cloimate 
agreeable foor pigs ? Yez ought ter say 
t'ould pig ter home! She was jist afther 
havin' the foinest litter av kittens ye iver 
see, an* Oi hed to lave her behoind. Say, 



John the Orange-man. 17 

did yez know Con Rafferty, as got the 
gould midal for catching all thray av the 
grayced pigs at the fair last soomer ? He 
was the handy bye wid the shillely too; 
Oi Ve a crook in me nose now, fram a crack 
he gev me thray years ago. Ye can fail 
the loomp wid yer finger, roight here at the 
top av it, capthain ! '' To all this the good- 
natured officer listened with the utmost in- 
terest, and answered, to the best of his 
ability, the numerous questions of his 
ambitious protege. 

When the captain was busy about the 
ship, John would sit by the hour in the 
sunshine on a pile of rope, watching the 
sailors at work, and dreaming about the 
new country that he was fast approaching. 
Day after day went by, and finally land 
came in sight. The outer islands of Boston 
Harbor were passed, and soon the smoke of 
the city was visible. John was all eyes. 
So many houses, so much smoke ! he was 
quite bewildered. The vessel hove to at 



1 8 The Story of 

the wharf, and John stepped ashore, with 
his trunk on his shoulder, and his last 
potato in his pocket. 

He asked a man the way to Cambridge, 
and started up State Street from the water- 
front A curious specimen he was, clad in 
short corduroy trousers, black coat, and flat- 
crowned Derby hat. On his shoulder he 
carried his trunk, and in his hand was a 
stout blackthorn cane. He was twenty 
years old and penniless, but with a career 
before him. He strode up the street, past 
the old State House, stopping occasionally 
to look in at store-windows, or to gaze up 
at the apparently endless rows of buildings. 
Some street Arabs jeered at him, calling 
him ** Irish,'* but fled as he turned and 
shook his stick at them. 

How different was Boston from the place 
he had left ! He had never seen a city 
before, and was half stunned by the noise ; 
the crooked, crowded streets confused him, 
and passers-by, jostling him, turned and 



John the Orange-man. 19 

smiled at the hopelessly lost expression on 
his countenance. 

At length, after numerous inquiries, he 
succeeded in reaching the river-front, 
where he paused to collect his scattered 
wits. He seated himself on the trunk and 
wiped the sweat from his brow with a faded 
red handkerchief, which plainly gave evi- 
dence of having been recently in contact 
with the '* pitaties.'* The cool breeze re- 
freshed him ; and after a short rest he 
shouldered his trunk once more. There 
were few pedestrians on the bridge, and he 
got along faster. His spirits rose ; his jour- 
ney was almost over, and he stepped along 
gayly. 

Suddenly he was stopped by the words, 
'' Hi there ! toll ! " 

John looked around. ** Phwat d' yer 
mane 1 " he asked. 

** One cent toll, or yer don^t go over," 
was the reply. 

John was puzzled ; they never did that 



20 The Story of 

at Kenmere. He had been accustomed to 
go wherever he pleased without being 
obliged to pay for the privilege. He felt 
through his pockets mechanically, though 
he well knew there was nothing there but 
a potato, and then told the keeper of the 
gate that he had no money. 

** Then you '11 have to stay in Boston," 
was the only answer he got. 

John thought a minute, and then a 
bright idea struck him. *' Oi tell ye how 
we '11 fix it," he said. " Oi go over now, and 
koom back ter-marrer and pay ye the cint." 

" Not much you don't/' said the keeper. 
" You can't come that on me." 

Our hero's Irish ingenuity did not fail 
him at this. He was bound to get over 
some way. " Say, you mon, kin Oi koom 
over this half av the bridge widout payin' } " 

" Yes, of course, as long as you don't go 
by here." 

" An' if I was on the ither soide, could 
Oi koom up as far as this widout payin' 1 " 



John the Orange-man. 21 

" Yes ; but you'd have to pay to go over 
this particular ten feet of the bridge/' 

"Aw, will, if yez only hev to pay to 
go over tin fate av the bridge, Oi 'm arl 
roight. Oi kin joomp that aisy!*' 

The man laughed, but was relentless. 
Poor John ! so near his destination. He 
leaned over the rail and looked down into 
the running tide of the Charles. A sea- 
gull flew over his head, uttering its shrill 
cry. It was not the wild-eyed, storm-tossed 
gull that always flies over the desolate 
maiden, as she stands by the shore gazing 
after the ship that is bearing her lover 
away, but a plain, unpretending Charles 
River gull, whose highest aspiration was 
an oozy mud-flat, and who had never even 
dreamed of taking part in a romantic scene. 
John flung a stone at the bird, muttering 
something about a '' fray kentry, where ye 
hed to pay to walk," and then seated him- 
self disconsolately on his trunk. But what 
was he to do ? To be thus stopped on the 



22 The Story of 

very threshold, after his long journey, was 
a melancholy event. Cambridge was in 
sight on the opposite shore. A tear rolled 
down his cheek, and was lost in the fuzzy 
auburn beard. A passing teamster ob- 
served his plight, and pitying the forlorn 
alien, paid his toll, and drove him out to 
Cambridgeport. From there he walked to 
Harvard Square, passing the college yard 
that he was destined in a few years to 
patrol. 

Several students laughed at him, but he 
was too intent on finding his friends to no- 
tice their jeers. Turning down Brighton 
Street (now Boylston), he walked toward 
the river. 

" Hello, John ! Phy, phwat a bye ye Ve 
grown to be ! Phy, Oi hardly knew ye ! " 

" Hello, Dan ! it 's doom glad Oi am to 
foind ye ! " He was in his cousin^s arms, 
and his wanderings were over. 

For several months he lived with his 
friends on Brighton Street, and then hired 



John the Orange-man. i^ 

a couple of rooms in the old Dennison 
house on the corner of Mason and Garden 
streets, where the Shepard Church now 
stands. 

He sent for his mother, who was in 
Lowell with his brother ; and for seven 
years they lived in these two rooms, for 
which they paid five dollars a month. In 
various ways he tried to earn a living, — did 
chores, beat carpets, sawed wood, and did 
other odd jobs for Cambridge residents. 
It was an humble beginning ; but those 
who are to rise must begin at the bottom. 
John's promotion soon came. It was a 
warm day in June — but, stay! we will 
have the story of his first meeting with 
the " sthudints " in his own words : — 

"It was a hart day, frind, about thray 
o'clark in the afthernoon, an' Oi wint over 
an the carmmon to wartch the byes play 
barl. Afther they git through, they tell me 
to bring thim some wather to dhrink ; an 
Oi wint over to me house and got a big 



24 The Story of 

pitcher av wather, and pit some ginger 
in it, an' some merlasses, an' a bit 
av vinegar, an* some oice; an' I carried 
it over to thim, an' they till me to git 
thim another pitcher, an' Oi did ; an' 
they mek up a subschription av about two 
darllers for me, an' Oi did n't want to 
tek it, but they med me, an' Oi did ! 
Wan sthudint invoighted me down to his 
room in Harllis Harll, an' whoile Oi was 
there a whole lart av 'em kem in ; an' they 
gev me a carpet, an' some old clothes, 
an' some shoes, an' they till me if I buy 
fruit, and kem around to their rooms, I 
could git along very will wid thim ; an' Oi 
did ! an' they all buy av me. I used sell 
'r'nges, 'n' b'nanas, 'n' candy, 'n' jew'lry. 
They did n't buy me candy 'n jew'lry much, 
but they always tuk me 'r'nges 'n' b'nanas ! 
Some day I was mek about two darl- 
lers, and some day only sivinty-foive cints. 
There was another man used go round 
selling candy. He was called 'Jimmy;' 



John the Orange-man. 25 

he was very ould and fayble, an half 
bloind. He died a year or two afther Oi 
begin to go around ; he was a good feller, 
Jimmy was, frind." 

For about six years John lived alone 
with his mother, selling fruit from room to 
room in the old college buildings. Then 
came his second promotion : he determined 
to indulge in the luxury of a wife. After 
due deliberation he set his heart on a cer- 
tain charming Mary Hallisy, who lived on 
Brighton Street. His courtship was a short 
one, lasting only about two months, and 
then they were married. They lived on 
Brighton Street for about three years, hir- 
ing a room in his cousin's house. But the 
desire to own a place of his own at length 
took possession of John, and he deter- 
mined to move. Moreover, as he says, 
" They did n't loike I be bringing so much 
fruit into the house, for fear I be hurtin' 
something." So he drew from the bank 
his hard-earned savings, and bought a bit 



26 The Story of 

of land on Beaver Street, for* which he paid 
four hundred dollars. He 'filled up the 
land himself with ashes, working every day 
until nearly midnight, and then began to 
build, doing much of the work himself, 
at least such parts as required no skilled 
labor. It is a double house ; and John 
rents the other half, thereby helping out 
his income considerably. Altogether his 
house cost him thirteen hundred dollars, 
and he mortgaged it for nine hundred. 
It took him six years to pay off this mort- 
gage ; and there was not a happier man in 
Cambridge than Old John, when the last 
cent was paid and the house was his own. 
Some years after, the city raised the land, 
and John had to hoist up the house, to 
keep pace with the times, and prevent 
passers-by from looking down the chimney. 
This cost him seven hundred more, and 
another mortgage was necessary, which was 
not paid until about two years ago. This 
change added another story to his house, 



o 



o 

c 




John the Orange-man. 27 

for he gave it a big lift while he was about 
it ; and what was formerly the kitchen is at 
the present time "the parloor on the sicond 
flure ! " 

At all events, he is comfortably settled 
now, and has a snug little sum laid up in 
the bank against a rainy day ; for crises 
will come, even to the best-regulated busi- 
ness man. 

In 1 88 1 he was presented with a hand- 
cart by members of the graduating class and 
some others. Up to this time he had been 
compelled to lug his fruit in a basket ; and 
the cart was a priceless treasure to him. 
He says, '^ They warnted to give me a darn- 
key too, but I be afraid the Farculty mek a 
row about havin' 'im in the yard.'* It is 
hard to conceive what possible evil could 
have resulted from the advent of a donkey, 
except that the grass might have refused to 
grow in his shadow, for John is something 
of a barnacle during the day, spending 
most of his time on the sunny steps of 



28 The Story of 

Matthews and Hollis. Among John's val 
uables is treasured a paper, somewhat yel- 
low with age, and a trifle torn and soiled, 
bearing the following inscription : — 

" We the undersigned, recognizing in John the 
fruit-man an old ^frind,' and one who has sup- 
plied the college with fruit for a quarter of a 
century, and desiring to lessen the burden of his 
heavy baskets by presenting him with a two- 
wheeled hand-cart, in which to draw his baskets 
from his house to the Halls and to Jarvis Field, 
do hereby subscribe one dollar (^i.oo) for that 
object." 

Then follows a list of some forty names, 
headed by a now prominent citizen of San 
Francisco. 

The cart was duly purchased, and pre- 
sented to John in front of Matthews Hall, 
with ceremonies fitting the occasion. 

Soon after this he had a slight misunder- 
standing with the '' yard boss,'' who finally 
informed him that the authorities would 
not allow him to bring his cart on the 



John the Orange-man. 29 

campus, and that he must leave it at the 
gate. John retailed his woes to some of 
the students, who petitioned the Faculty to 
show clemency to the Orange man ; and an 
edict was issued to the effect that John 
and his cart should not be interfered with. 
A delegation waited on the old fruit-dealer 
with this edict ; and he was borne in tri- 
umph through the college gate, cart and 
all, amid deafening cheers ! For ten years 
he has wheeled his fruit about the yard in 
rain and shine, and to all appearances the 
vehicle is as serviceable as ever. Starting 
from his house about nine o'clock, he spends 
the forenoon in the college yard, depending 
on stray customers between the recitations 
and lectures ; in the afternoon, if the 
weather be warm, he visits the ball fields ; 
while in the evening he makes his tours 
through the dormitories. 

To those who know him well he is rather 
an interesting study, though his brogue is 
a trifle hard to comprehend at times. One 



so The Story of 

of the best traits of his character is that 
he can never be induced to speak ill of any 
one. Minghng as he does with the men 
of various sets and cHques, he necessarily 
hears more or less slander, but if asked his 
opinion about a man, his only comment is, 
*' Aw, he 's a good fellah, frind/' To some 
few he occasionally confides his likes and 
dislikes, but in general is very non-com- 
mittal. He hears and knows of many dark 
deeds committed within the college walls, 
but takes a legitimate pride in saying, 
"Oh, but Oi'd niver till, frind, who done 
it; Oi couldn't do thot T' 

At times he is very sociable, and will 
make a long evening call, lighting his pipe, 
and sacrificing business to comfort. It is 
on these occasions that his interesting 
stories come out. He will tell about the 
old professors he used to know. Sophocles 
seemed to be one of his favorites. 

"Ah, yis, frind, I know Sarphacles viry 
will. He was always kep' around his room 



John the Orange-man. 31 

in Harlworthy, an' he buy fruit av me. 
He kerried an ould grane oonibrella, and 
wore always the same ould hat. I asked 
him one day why he did n't wear his good 
clothes when he go to Boston, an' he say 
the blacklegs would go for him, thinkin' 
he be rich ! He niver let Jthe women brush 
the carbwebs from his room, an' used sind 
me over to the grain-store to buy grain fer 
him to throw out to the sparrers for fear 
they go hengry. He give me woine some- 
times, but I did n't like it very much. He 
pit some koind av spoice in it, and say it 
was loike they do at home ; he used carry 
his own bottle of woine whiniver he go 
out to dinner. He till me wanst that in 
Grayceland he git a shave fer wan cint; 
he niver git shaved here at all ! " 

Clery, the old negro who took care of 
the chemical laboratory, and was commonly 
known as *' The Professor," was another old 
friend of John. He died two years ago. 
John met him when he was first connected 



32 The Story of 

with the college, and the two used to chat 
together in the yard every morning. 

On one or two occasions the name of 
John Lovett has been entered on the books 
of the district court. His first arrest was 
fifteen years ago. With a party of friends 
he had been making merry at a wake, or 
something of the kind, at Mount Auburn, 
and the crowd, being somewhat boisterous 
on the way home, were locked up for dis- 
turbing the peace. He escaped with a 
small fine. At his next appearance before 
the magistrates, he figured in the role of 
accuser. While passing through Church 
Street, he had been attacked by an irate 
driver, whose horses had taken fright at the 
hand-cart. A couple of students rescued 
him from the clutches of his assailant, who 
was subsequently arrested on charge of as- 
sault. John's case was conducted by a party 
of law-school men, who won the day for 
him. The driver was fined twenty dollars 
with costs, and John was marched away to 



John the Orange-man. ^^ 

the yard in triumph, where the victory was 
celebrated with appropriate rejoicings. 

Of late years it has become the fashion 
to have John accompany the ball teams as 
a mascot. The first big game, outside of 
Cambridge, that he was present at, was the 
one played in New York in 1888. John 
went down with the crowd, and he and the 
students made things pretty lively on the 
boat. They sat on the upper deck, singing 
songs and telling stories, until nearly mid- 
night ; and naturally John was the central 
object of interest. 

His vocal powers are sui generis. He 
has a range of about half an octave, and it 
requires a good deal of skill to bring the 
average song within that compass. It is 
something like Chinese music ; one must 
be educated to it in order to appreciate 
it. His favorite song is " Erin-go-Bragh." 
The words I give as he renders them. 
I believe he does not hold strictly to the 
original. 

3 



34 The Story of 

" At first, in my youth, as I was spadin' the land, 
Wid the brogues on me feet, an' the spade in me 

hand, 
The people they say 't was a pity to see 
Such a hansome young man cuttin' turf in 

Truree. 
I butter me brogues an' shook hands to me spade, 
And wint to the fair loike a dandy arrayed. 
Out came a sairgint who asked if Oi 'd list, 
Av he gev me the shillin' he hild in his fist. 
Erin-go-Bragh, — shillely and all, — 
My heart it be wid you, oh, Erin-go-Bragh ! " 

There are seven or eight more stanzas, but 
I will spare the reader. 

The night porter on the steamer evi- 
dently had not the same appreciation of 
John's melodies that the students had, for 
he threatened to put the soloist down on 
the lower deck, if he did not " shut up/' He 
was informed, however, that if he did he 
should have to put down about three hun- 
dred others first, and this job he was un- 
willing to undertake. 

On reaching New York, the mascot, ar- 
rayed in crimson scarfs and flags, was 



John the Orange-man. 35 

taken all over the city and shown the 
sights. He dined at the Hoffman House, 
and in the afternoon was driven to the field 
on a coach, to witness the game. His ex- 
citement knew no bounds, and he wagered 
all the money he had with him on the 
crimson. Poor, hopeful John ! he lost it 
all. 

At the Springfield game in 1890 he was 
also a prominent figure. His appearance 
on the field was announced by cheers, and 
cries of *' John ! John ! " all along the line. 
To these he responded by waving a couple 
of crimson flags, and shouting, ** Hairvard ! 
Hairvard ! '' He was immediately seized 
and dragged to the grand stand, where a 
seat had been reserved for him. A more 
excited or enthusiastic individual than John 
could not be found on the field, when the 
game closed with a score of 12 to 6 in 
Harvard's favor. He has always been a 
foot-ball enthusiast, ever since the days 
when the Freshmen and Sophomores cele- 



36 The Story of 

brated *' Bloody Monday '' by a terrific 
struggle on the delta, where Memorial Hall 
now stands. People came from miles 
around to watch them, and the fruit-man 
was always on hand with his baskets. In 
i860 these contests were abolished as 
being dangerous ; and a foot-ball, enclosed 
in an oak coffin, was buried on the field. 
Speeches were made ; an ode was read ; 
and a tombstone, bearing a fitting inscrip- 
tion was erected over the grave. 

But I have dwelt enough on John's pub- 
lic life. Of his home life there is little, to 
be said. I shall never forget my first for- 
mal call on the Orange-man. He had often 
expressed a wish that I should " drap 
around some day and hev a luk at his 
place ; " and accordingly I set out, one 
bright spring morning, armed with a 
camera, to find his homestead. 

The task was more difficult than I had 
anticipated, and I soon found myself hope- 
lessly lost among the amphibian streets of 



John the Orange-man. 2>1 

lesser Cambridge, — Otter Street, Beaver 
Street, and Heaven knows what others ! 
At length I espied a small mucker playing 
shinney alone in a back yard, and hailed 
him with joy: ** Hi, you boy! where does 
John live ? " 

** John Lovett, ye mane ? " asked the boy, 
pausing a moment in his exciting sport, 
and eying me with mingled awe and 
curiosity. 

" Yes, of course ; what other John is 
there ? " 

The boy pointed down the street with 
his shinney stick, and said, " Over in that 
yaller house." 

I crossed over, with some incredulity. 
Could it be possible that this substantial 
three-story house had been raised with 
the proceeds of the sale of '' Vnges 'n' 
b'nanas " 1 Before I could open the gate 
John himself was at the door. '' How do 
you do, frind "i Come roight in an' mek 
yourself to home.'' 



38 The Story of 

I entered the kitchen, and was formally 
introduced to his wife, who greeted me 
with a " Gud-manmy sur ; it 's a fine manin, 
sur." Seating myself in an armchair by 
the stove, I looked about. A bright fox- 
terrier capered around with one ear erected 
on the alert for anything interesting; a 
plump Maltese cat rubbed sociably against 
my leg, and then hastened to answer the call 
of a small kitten that was trying to crawl out 
of a saucer of milk. .Everything was very 
home-like, Mrs. John bustled about, and 
insisted on my having " a couple av biled 
eggs, and a sup av tay/' The kitten, now 
rescued from its predicament, was dragging 
itself along toward the stove, leaving little 
blue trails on the floor, which the mother 
neatly lapped up. Great interest in the 
proceedings was shown by the terrier, who 
trotted around with a knowing air, occa- 
sionally suggesting by a sharp bark that 
his wants had not been attended to. 

John did not propose to have his guest 



John the Orange-man. 39 

annoyed by any such manners, and accord- 
ingly ejected the dog, remarking, " Go an 
out, Spart, an' doan't be a-bairkin* at the 
gintleman." 

*'What do you call him. Spot or Sport ? ' 
I inquired mildly. 

" Spart, frind,'' replied John, in his be- 
wildering brogue. 

What an ambiguous name ! 

I was then taken up to the parlor, which 
is over the kitchen, and shown all the fam- 
ily treasures. A large photograph album 
was brought out which contained many of 
John's ** frinds." Prominent graduates and 
their sons were side by side. A well-known 
'86 man was on the page directly opposite 
a dime-museum Abyssinian woman with a 
shock of hair as large as a bushel-basket, 
and bedecked from head to foot with tin 
ornaments and what Kipling calls '* open- 
work jam-tart jewelry ! " The celebrated 
Harvard athlete, a record-holder, was side 
by side with the variety-show gymnast, 



40 The Story of 

who wore a score or so of medals, badges, 
and other trophies pinned on his jersey. 

I hinted to John that it would be pleas- 
ant if he could have another album, and 
keep all the ** college gintlemin" together, 
and he seemed to think the idea a good 
one. '' I niver think av that, frind ; I think 
I will. I Ve a lart more av 'em away in a 
thrunk." 

The parlor was prettily furnished with a 
square piano, sofa, centre-table, easy-chairs, 
and numerous smaller pieces. Over the 
centre-table hung a chandelier gorgeous 
with glass prisms of rainbow hues, while 
on the walls hung various pictures, a 
** God-bless-our-home " worked with colored 
worsted on a colander background, and 
other bric-a-brac. 

" Is this where you spend your leisure, 
John } " I asked. 

** No, frind ; I be doun in the kitchen 
wid Mary most av the toime. It feel more 
ter home doun there." 



John the Orange-man. 41 

He evidently prefers the bare kitchen, 
with its one broken-down armchair, and 
comfortable cook-stove, to the cosey parlor 
above, which is used as a reception-room. 

After going over the house, we in- 
spected the live-stock. He has a prom- 
ising flock of hens, in which he takes 
great pride. 

I was very anxious to secure a picture of 
the old man feeding his fowls, and at the 
last minute conceived the daring project of 
getting a likeness of Mrs. J. I whispered 
to John, and he went into the house to get 
his better half. 

I heard him trying to persuade her, and 
then came her protest in a high-pitched, 
rapid voice : ** Oi will nart, Jan. Oi won't, 
Oi till ye! It's oogly enough Oi be wid- 
out havin' any pictur or foolishness tuk, 
for any av yer ould buk, so there, Jan ; an* 
ye lave me be, fur Oi don't go out, an* ye 
don't mek me, nor any one ilse nayther ! " 
Then came a bang of a door, followed 



42 The Story of 

by retreating footsteps. Mary had gone 
aloft ! It was a useless attempt, for when- 
ever I appeared in the kitchen she van- 
ished into a closet, or down the cellar 
stairs. She is a more reluctant sitter than 
a certain Boston minister. 

A year ago John had a small yellow 
mongrel for a pet, which used to follow 
him around lesser Cambridge, but which 
he seldom brought up to the yard with 
him. He was greatly attached to this 
creature ; and the story of the animal's 
death is most pathetic. It was early one 
Sunday morning, and the little dog was on 
his way to Harvard Square to call on an ac- 
quaintance. While crossing Main Street, 
he unfortunately got in front of an electric 
car and was bisected. For some hours the 
remains lay in the gutter exposed to the 
view of the passing church-goers ; and then 
somebody went down and told John. In 
a few minutes he was seen coming up the 
street, trundling an old wheel-barrow cov- 



John the Orange-man. 43 

ered with a faded hearth-rug. A mob of 
small boys swarmed around him, now forg- 
ing ahead, and now lagging behind, Hke the 
followers of the " pied piper'* of Hamlin 
town. Poor old John shuffled along behind 
the barrow, which marked a zigzag path on 
the hot, dusty road. 

On reaching the scene of the disaster, he 
tenderly lifted the two remains into the 
wheel-barrow, covered them with the rug, 
and shambled away, followed by a silent 
and awe-struck cortege. 

There was a sad funeral that afternoon 
at the house of the Orange-man, and what 
was left of the poor little yellow dog was 
buried in the back yard. 

This singular tenderness for dumb ani- 
mals is peculiar to the Irish race. A 
man who will break his neighbor's head 
with a shillelah, and then go home and 
get drunk to celebrate the victory, will 
sit up all night crying over a lame 
chicken. 



44 The Story of 

But this was to be a short sketch, there- 
fore I must be done. John's stories and 
adventures are sufficient to fill a large vol- 
ume ; but I must leave them for the per- 
sonal investigation of the reader, if he be 
interested to make a further study of the 
hero. 

Though not exactly in the prime of life, 
he has still many happy years before him. 
The time will never come when Harvard 
will close her doors to him. He is the one 
privileged character that is allowed to pass 
unmolested the signs, '* Pedlers, Beggars, 
Traders, and Book-agents are not allowed 
in this Building." In bidding him fare- 
well, let me propose the celebrated toast, 
given at an Irish dinner, " Long life to 
him, and may he live to ate the chicken 
that scratches over his grave ! " He has 
served us faithfully, and will continue to 
do so as long as he is able to push the 
hand-cart ; and when at last he is too old 
and feeble to attend to his business, he 



John the Orange-man. 45 

will come occasionally to the yard and sit 
in the sun on the steps of Matthews Hall, 
and his name will be enrolled on the 
records of the University as 

John Lovett, Emeritus, 



THE END. 



